[Fic] This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things (PG, Allen + Kanda)
Title: This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Fandom: D.Gray-man
Pairing: None, but there's Allen. And Kanda. Feel free to read between the lines.
Rating: PG (I know, what)
Word Count: 2,060
Notes: Chapter 135 is entirely to blame for this. Although there are no spoilers for the plot, I promise. Only for a tiny visual detail
Yes, so. This story is what happened while I was waiting for the translation of the new chapter. I HAD TO OCCUPY MYSELF SOMEHOW.
asingulargirl: well, clearly i am not going to get anything accomplished until the scans are out for the new chapter
sutlers: lol me neither >_>
asingulargirl: it's so sad
asingulargirl: every friday night i tell myself i am not going to do this
asingulargirl: and now i want the scaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaans afjdkflsdjfdklsfjdsafklasdjfda
sutlers: kjhakdfjhaksfjdhasdk kanda's gay sweaterrrrrrrr
asingulargirl: I KNOW OMFGGGGGGGGG
asingulargirl: IT IS SO GAY
asingulargirl: IT IS FLUFFY
sutlers: kfjhaskfjdhaskhj GAAAAAAAY
asingulargirl: AND THE SLEEVES ARE TOO LONG AND IT IS ALL FLOOFY
asingulargirl: allen is so going to steal that >_>
asingulargirl: dammit now i want to write allen-stealing-kanda's-gay-sweater fic
sutlers: DO IT
asingulargirl: lol i can already see how it would go
sutlers: lol uh oh
Or you can just skip to the fic if you don't care about how or why. It's not really important anyway.
Allen is outside talking to Mrs. Smith-who-does-the-wash (which is how he can't help but think of her, since that's how everyone refers to her) about her son Jacob - who is such a nice boy, except for the cat-teasing problem he has - when it happens.
It's spring, which means that the English weather is grumpy and temperamental, but Allen has never been able to understand how a perfectly nice and brilliant blue day - almost warm, in the sun - can turn into an oblivion of cold, damp fog in less time than it takes to realize that it has happened. The violent shiver that rolls through his back and all the way to his fingers and toes is undeniable.
"Oh, goodness, child, take this." She reaches through an impossibly tall mound of socks and past two of Lavi's scarves to fish out a sweater. "You can bring it back to me later. I'm sure he won't mind you borrowing it for just a little while."
Allen doesn't bother to ask who "he" might be. Mrs. Smith-who-does-the-wash has impeccable judgment when it comes to laundry, so he's sure she is trustworthy.
The sweater, as it turns out, is maybe the most wonderfully soft and comfortable thing he has ever had the fortune to slip his arms into. It is still warm from absorbing the sun for the better part of an afternoon. The sleeves are far too long and wide - his fingers don't even reach the ends of them - but it's almost better that way, he thinks with glee as he hugs it around him. It nearly swallows him completely.
"You should go inside, dear, it is getting nippy out here," Mrs. Smith suggests in a kindly tone that nonetheless brooks no argument, and so Allen tells her to give Jacob his regards and bids her adieu before returning to the tower.
Allen flaps the sleeves a little bit as he walks down the hall toward the library. He has the sudden urge to find a very particular kind of book: the kind that is just interesting enough to lose himself in before he dozes off on one of the couches in the lounge.
Things seem to be going Allen's way today, because he runs into Lavi coming out of the library.
"Lavi, what is the name of that man that writes the fairy tales?" Allen asks. "I know the stories. There's a sad one about a match girl, and one about a mermaid - "
"Ah, yes," Lavi says. "Andersen. Yeah, he's Danish."
"Oh," Allen says, disappointed.
"But," Lavi continues, beaming, "someone very talented happened to spend some time translating some of his works - "
"You did?" Allen grabs at Lavi's arm in excitement. "Are they good? Mana told me some of them but to read them might be different; you know how stories are sometimes when you've heard them one way all your life and then you read them -"
"Oh, they're good," Lavi says, looking down at Allen's hand in a bemused fashion. "Um, Allen? Where did you, uh, get that?"
"This? Oh, Mrs. Smith-who-does-the-wash gave it to me," Allen says. "I'm to take it back to her later."
Lavi grins. "I see." He snickers. "I'm rather inclined to say that may be too much sweater for you, Allen."
"It's enormous," Allen says happily. "And soft."
"Soft, huh?" Lavi says in a strangled voice. "Listen, Allen, I'm on my way to see Panda, and I'm really very sorry that I have to get going, but you enjoy every second of that sweater. And the book. That too. Have fun!"
Allen smiles at him and winds his fingers around the ends of his sleeves as he goes to find his book.
There is a perfect spot in the lounge: a couch with enough room to sprawl out on if he likes, a good view of others who are talking or reading, and another good view of the hallway so he can entertain himself with watching people as well. Armed with all the simple joys of life, including a cup of tea, Allen curls himself into the corner of the couch, bundles the sweater up to his chin and tightly around his chest, finds his hands again, and opens the book, breathing in the scents of paper, ink, and fresh laundry. He is cozy and warm and content, even if he is reading about the poor, sad, ugly duckling.
He knows he is frowning in sympathy when he looks up; in fact, that is exactly why he looks up. It isn't fair at all, he muses, that no one likes the duckling just because of the way he looks, and when he meets Kanda's stony gaze as he walks into the room, he's a little worried that Kanda will think Allen was frowning at him.
More than a little worried, because Kanda strides over and demands, "What's your problem?"
"Nothing," Allen says. Of course, now he does have a problem, one that is towering over him in a threatening way. Allen hasn't done a single thing to Kanda that he can think of, not lately, anyway. Kanda's hair is down and Allen can't help noticing, as he always does when Kanda is not in uniform, that it makes Kanda look, if not friendly, at least far less intimidating.
He frowns more, because now he is starting to feel shaky and unsettled and completely inadequate in that way that only Kanda is able to make him feel. "It was the ugly duckling, not you," he mutters.
Kanda makes an annoyed noise and rolls his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"The duckling in the story," Allen says, pointing at the book. His sleeve flaps against the page. "Leave me alone."
"Hey," Kanda says in the tone of someone discovering that they've been pickpocketed.
"What?" Allen asks indignantly. "I'm reading! I didn't do anything to you!"
Allen is a little confused as to how he could have angered Kanda merely by virtue of being in the same room. And he was here first, he reminds himself. Then again, Kanda hasn't ever really needed much of a reason.
"My sweater," Kanda says ominously.
It takes Allen a minute to process this information, and any feelings of inadequacy that had been blossoming moments ago dissipate.
"Oh," he says at last. "Um. This is yours?"
"Yes," Kanda hisses.
Allen stands up. "But... it's soft," he protests. "And - " he almost snickers but manages to swallow it back - "and fluffy!"
Kanda's eyes widen and then narrow, but he doesn't move. He just stands there, almost as if he doesn't know what to do, one eye twitching.
Allen can't help that he is beginning to enjoy this. "And to be honest," he adds, "It's a bit, um, different than anything I would have imagined you in." That came out wrong, he realizes as soon as he's said it. It's not that he has ever imagined Kanda in anything. Or in nothing. Or - well, the sweater just doesn't seem to fit Kanda's personality, Allen tells himself quickly, thankful that he didn't follow that train of thought out loud.
The long interlude that follows crackles with tension.
"I hate you," Kanda informs him finally.
Allen laughs before he can stop himself, but Kanda's step forward is enough incentive to rearrange his face into something more contrite. "I'm sorry," he says in a more serious tone. "Do you want it back now? I wasn't trying to steal it; I told Mrs. Smith-who-does-the-wash I'd take it back when I was done with it, but if you want it - "
"No," Kanda grits out.
"Okay," Allen says with a triumphant smile. He sits down, snuggling back into it.
"Wait," Kanda snaps. "Yes I do. Right now. Give it to me."
Allen hugs it around him one more time to say goodbye - it really is a glorious sweater - and then reluctantly starts to take it off. "But... it's so fluffy," Allen points out again.
Kanda's fists clench at his sides. "Just give it to me," he growls, "or I'll take it off for you."
Several inappropriate images flit through Allen's head, and before he knows it he's sitting back on the couch snickering helplessly.
"What is so damn funny?" Kanda shouts. Allen notes in a distant corner of his mind that the few remaining people who weren't watching this exchange are now giving the two of them their undivided attention.
"Take it off - for me," Allen gasps, and then, to his dismay, realizes as Kanda rushes at him that Kanda has taken that for a challenge.
Allen lets out a yelp and tries to scramble away, but Kanda grabs the edge of the sweater and drags him back. In a desperate attempt to keep Kanda's hands from closing around his neck and squeezing the life out of him, Allen punches him in the stomach.
Of course, Kanda's stomach is already tense with rage, so it doesn't do much to stop him. Allen flails and kicks at him and somehow they end up on the floor. One of Allen's hands winds through Kanda's hair, and Kanda's hands wind through the sweater. Allen thinks that Kanda may have bitten him, and he knows that he has punched Kanda in the face, although he can't quite remember the exact sequence of events through the blur of commotion.
At any rate, both of their chests are heaving, and Kanda is between Allen's legs with an iron grip on one of Allen's shoulders and his other arm, and the part of Kanda's hair that isn't tangled in Allen's fingers is falling around them and tickling Allen's cheeks in an absurd bit of incongruity, and the floor is very, very hard, Allen thinks each time his head hits it, and he is not going to let Kanda Yuu kick his ass over a sweater.
He musters every bit of strength he has and yanks on Kanda's hair as hard as he can, and for good measure hooks one leg around the backs of Kanda's knees and... nothing really happens, except that Kanda's hands slip off Allen's body so that his face doesn't come crashing down into Allen's. Neither one of them can move, Allen thinks with satisfaction, and wraps his hand more tightly in Kanda's hair.
"I'll take it off," Allen pants. "Just get off me!"
"Then let go of me," Kanda says through his teeth.
"No! You'll kill me!" Allen protests.
Kanda takes a deep, long, even breath and huffs it out. "Over a sweater? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Let go of my hair, you idiot!"
"Promise you won't choke me," Allen says, "and I'll let go of your hair."
"I refuse to promise that," Kanda says darkly.
"Well, then, we can just stay like this all afternoon," Allen says, matching Kanda's tone.
Kanda makes a strangled, enraged sound and Allen discovers that maybe he didn't have as good of a grip on Kanda as he thought he did when Kanda wrenches himself out of Allen's grasp and sits on the floor, glaring at Allen.
Allen looks at the strands of Kanda's hair still in his fingers and then back at Kanda, feeling rather ashamed of himself as he stands up and dusts himself off as best he can. Mournfully, he notes that the sweater is filthy.
He holds out a hand to help Kanda up, but Kanda huffs again and gets up on his own. There's a pink blotch on his face where Allen punched him, as well as two even brighter spots of red on his cheeks. Allen's own face flames up in response. "Um," he says, "do you want it back now? I think it needs to be washed again."
Kanda holds out a hand without a word, still glaring at Allen, and Allen takes the sweater off sadly and drops it onto Kanda's arm.
"Can I borrow it again if I ask nicely next time?" Allen asks hopefully.
Kanda's eyes sink shut, he shakes his head, and then he snaps his eyes back open and looks at Allen. "You're an idiot," he says, and storms out of the room.
"Well," Allen says to himself as he begins to pick up the pieces of his teacup, "he didn't say no."
_____
...I promise I have better stories in the works. >_>
Fandom: D.Gray-man
Pairing: None, but there's Allen. And Kanda. Feel free to read between the lines.
Rating: PG (I know, what)
Word Count: 2,060
Notes: Chapter 135 is entirely to blame for this. Although there are no spoilers for the plot, I promise. Only for a tiny visual detail
Yes, so. This story is what happened while I was waiting for the translation of the new chapter. I HAD TO OCCUPY MYSELF SOMEHOW.
asingulargirl: well, clearly i am not going to get anything accomplished until the scans are out for the new chapter
sutlers: lol me neither >_>
asingulargirl: it's so sad
asingulargirl: every friday night i tell myself i am not going to do this
asingulargirl: and now i want the scaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaans afjdkflsdjfdklsfjdsafklasdjfda
sutlers: kjhakdfjhaksfjdhasdk kanda's gay sweaterrrrrrrr
asingulargirl: I KNOW OMFGGGGGGGGG
asingulargirl: IT IS SO GAY
asingulargirl: IT IS FLUFFY
sutlers: kfjhaskfjdhaskhj GAAAAAAAY
asingulargirl: AND THE SLEEVES ARE TOO LONG AND IT IS ALL FLOOFY
asingulargirl: allen is so going to steal that >_>
asingulargirl: dammit now i want to write allen-stealing-kanda's-gay-sweater fic
sutlers: DO IT
asingulargirl: lol i can already see how it would go
sutlers: lol uh oh
Or you can just skip to the fic if you don't care about how or why. It's not really important anyway.
Allen is outside talking to Mrs. Smith-who-does-the-wash (which is how he can't help but think of her, since that's how everyone refers to her) about her son Jacob - who is such a nice boy, except for the cat-teasing problem he has - when it happens.
It's spring, which means that the English weather is grumpy and temperamental, but Allen has never been able to understand how a perfectly nice and brilliant blue day - almost warm, in the sun - can turn into an oblivion of cold, damp fog in less time than it takes to realize that it has happened. The violent shiver that rolls through his back and all the way to his fingers and toes is undeniable.
"Oh, goodness, child, take this." She reaches through an impossibly tall mound of socks and past two of Lavi's scarves to fish out a sweater. "You can bring it back to me later. I'm sure he won't mind you borrowing it for just a little while."
Allen doesn't bother to ask who "he" might be. Mrs. Smith-who-does-the-wash has impeccable judgment when it comes to laundry, so he's sure she is trustworthy.
The sweater, as it turns out, is maybe the most wonderfully soft and comfortable thing he has ever had the fortune to slip his arms into. It is still warm from absorbing the sun for the better part of an afternoon. The sleeves are far too long and wide - his fingers don't even reach the ends of them - but it's almost better that way, he thinks with glee as he hugs it around him. It nearly swallows him completely.
"You should go inside, dear, it is getting nippy out here," Mrs. Smith suggests in a kindly tone that nonetheless brooks no argument, and so Allen tells her to give Jacob his regards and bids her adieu before returning to the tower.
Allen flaps the sleeves a little bit as he walks down the hall toward the library. He has the sudden urge to find a very particular kind of book: the kind that is just interesting enough to lose himself in before he dozes off on one of the couches in the lounge.
Things seem to be going Allen's way today, because he runs into Lavi coming out of the library.
"Lavi, what is the name of that man that writes the fairy tales?" Allen asks. "I know the stories. There's a sad one about a match girl, and one about a mermaid - "
"Ah, yes," Lavi says. "Andersen. Yeah, he's Danish."
"Oh," Allen says, disappointed.
"But," Lavi continues, beaming, "someone very talented happened to spend some time translating some of his works - "
"You did?" Allen grabs at Lavi's arm in excitement. "Are they good? Mana told me some of them but to read them might be different; you know how stories are sometimes when you've heard them one way all your life and then you read them -"
"Oh, they're good," Lavi says, looking down at Allen's hand in a bemused fashion. "Um, Allen? Where did you, uh, get that?"
"This? Oh, Mrs. Smith-who-does-the-wash gave it to me," Allen says. "I'm to take it back to her later."
Lavi grins. "I see." He snickers. "I'm rather inclined to say that may be too much sweater for you, Allen."
"It's enormous," Allen says happily. "And soft."
"Soft, huh?" Lavi says in a strangled voice. "Listen, Allen, I'm on my way to see Panda, and I'm really very sorry that I have to get going, but you enjoy every second of that sweater. And the book. That too. Have fun!"
Allen smiles at him and winds his fingers around the ends of his sleeves as he goes to find his book.
There is a perfect spot in the lounge: a couch with enough room to sprawl out on if he likes, a good view of others who are talking or reading, and another good view of the hallway so he can entertain himself with watching people as well. Armed with all the simple joys of life, including a cup of tea, Allen curls himself into the corner of the couch, bundles the sweater up to his chin and tightly around his chest, finds his hands again, and opens the book, breathing in the scents of paper, ink, and fresh laundry. He is cozy and warm and content, even if he is reading about the poor, sad, ugly duckling.
He knows he is frowning in sympathy when he looks up; in fact, that is exactly why he looks up. It isn't fair at all, he muses, that no one likes the duckling just because of the way he looks, and when he meets Kanda's stony gaze as he walks into the room, he's a little worried that Kanda will think Allen was frowning at him.
More than a little worried, because Kanda strides over and demands, "What's your problem?"
"Nothing," Allen says. Of course, now he does have a problem, one that is towering over him in a threatening way. Allen hasn't done a single thing to Kanda that he can think of, not lately, anyway. Kanda's hair is down and Allen can't help noticing, as he always does when Kanda is not in uniform, that it makes Kanda look, if not friendly, at least far less intimidating.
He frowns more, because now he is starting to feel shaky and unsettled and completely inadequate in that way that only Kanda is able to make him feel. "It was the ugly duckling, not you," he mutters.
Kanda makes an annoyed noise and rolls his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"The duckling in the story," Allen says, pointing at the book. His sleeve flaps against the page. "Leave me alone."
"Hey," Kanda says in the tone of someone discovering that they've been pickpocketed.
"What?" Allen asks indignantly. "I'm reading! I didn't do anything to you!"
Allen is a little confused as to how he could have angered Kanda merely by virtue of being in the same room. And he was here first, he reminds himself. Then again, Kanda hasn't ever really needed much of a reason.
"My sweater," Kanda says ominously.
It takes Allen a minute to process this information, and any feelings of inadequacy that had been blossoming moments ago dissipate.
"Oh," he says at last. "Um. This is yours?"
"Yes," Kanda hisses.
Allen stands up. "But... it's soft," he protests. "And - " he almost snickers but manages to swallow it back - "and fluffy!"
Kanda's eyes widen and then narrow, but he doesn't move. He just stands there, almost as if he doesn't know what to do, one eye twitching.
Allen can't help that he is beginning to enjoy this. "And to be honest," he adds, "It's a bit, um, different than anything I would have imagined you in." That came out wrong, he realizes as soon as he's said it. It's not that he has ever imagined Kanda in anything. Or in nothing. Or - well, the sweater just doesn't seem to fit Kanda's personality, Allen tells himself quickly, thankful that he didn't follow that train of thought out loud.
The long interlude that follows crackles with tension.
"I hate you," Kanda informs him finally.
Allen laughs before he can stop himself, but Kanda's step forward is enough incentive to rearrange his face into something more contrite. "I'm sorry," he says in a more serious tone. "Do you want it back now? I wasn't trying to steal it; I told Mrs. Smith-who-does-the-wash I'd take it back when I was done with it, but if you want it - "
"No," Kanda grits out.
"Okay," Allen says with a triumphant smile. He sits down, snuggling back into it.
"Wait," Kanda snaps. "Yes I do. Right now. Give it to me."
Allen hugs it around him one more time to say goodbye - it really is a glorious sweater - and then reluctantly starts to take it off. "But... it's so fluffy," Allen points out again.
Kanda's fists clench at his sides. "Just give it to me," he growls, "or I'll take it off for you."
Several inappropriate images flit through Allen's head, and before he knows it he's sitting back on the couch snickering helplessly.
"What is so damn funny?" Kanda shouts. Allen notes in a distant corner of his mind that the few remaining people who weren't watching this exchange are now giving the two of them their undivided attention.
"Take it off - for me," Allen gasps, and then, to his dismay, realizes as Kanda rushes at him that Kanda has taken that for a challenge.
Allen lets out a yelp and tries to scramble away, but Kanda grabs the edge of the sweater and drags him back. In a desperate attempt to keep Kanda's hands from closing around his neck and squeezing the life out of him, Allen punches him in the stomach.
Of course, Kanda's stomach is already tense with rage, so it doesn't do much to stop him. Allen flails and kicks at him and somehow they end up on the floor. One of Allen's hands winds through Kanda's hair, and Kanda's hands wind through the sweater. Allen thinks that Kanda may have bitten him, and he knows that he has punched Kanda in the face, although he can't quite remember the exact sequence of events through the blur of commotion.
At any rate, both of their chests are heaving, and Kanda is between Allen's legs with an iron grip on one of Allen's shoulders and his other arm, and the part of Kanda's hair that isn't tangled in Allen's fingers is falling around them and tickling Allen's cheeks in an absurd bit of incongruity, and the floor is very, very hard, Allen thinks each time his head hits it, and he is not going to let Kanda Yuu kick his ass over a sweater.
He musters every bit of strength he has and yanks on Kanda's hair as hard as he can, and for good measure hooks one leg around the backs of Kanda's knees and... nothing really happens, except that Kanda's hands slip off Allen's body so that his face doesn't come crashing down into Allen's. Neither one of them can move, Allen thinks with satisfaction, and wraps his hand more tightly in Kanda's hair.
"I'll take it off," Allen pants. "Just get off me!"
"Then let go of me," Kanda says through his teeth.
"No! You'll kill me!" Allen protests.
Kanda takes a deep, long, even breath and huffs it out. "Over a sweater? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Let go of my hair, you idiot!"
"Promise you won't choke me," Allen says, "and I'll let go of your hair."
"I refuse to promise that," Kanda says darkly.
"Well, then, we can just stay like this all afternoon," Allen says, matching Kanda's tone.
Kanda makes a strangled, enraged sound and Allen discovers that maybe he didn't have as good of a grip on Kanda as he thought he did when Kanda wrenches himself out of Allen's grasp and sits on the floor, glaring at Allen.
Allen looks at the strands of Kanda's hair still in his fingers and then back at Kanda, feeling rather ashamed of himself as he stands up and dusts himself off as best he can. Mournfully, he notes that the sweater is filthy.
He holds out a hand to help Kanda up, but Kanda huffs again and gets up on his own. There's a pink blotch on his face where Allen punched him, as well as two even brighter spots of red on his cheeks. Allen's own face flames up in response. "Um," he says, "do you want it back now? I think it needs to be washed again."
Kanda holds out a hand without a word, still glaring at Allen, and Allen takes the sweater off sadly and drops it onto Kanda's arm.
"Can I borrow it again if I ask nicely next time?" Allen asks hopefully.
Kanda's eyes sink shut, he shakes his head, and then he snaps his eyes back open and looks at Allen. "You're an idiot," he says, and storms out of the room.
"Well," Allen says to himself as he begins to pick up the pieces of his teacup, "he didn't say no."
_____
...I promise I have better stories in the works. >_>